


Lift Her Brow Toward Morning

by Elleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early years of the First Age, Lalwen, Idril and Aredhel participate in a festival of the Mithrim Sindar and find, unexpectedly, some healing of the griefs of Helcaraxë.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lift Her Brow Toward Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zopyrus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zopyrus/gifts).



> For zopyrus. I hope I managed to include something that fits your ideas about female friendship and perhaps even hints toward their political offices. Please enjoy. :)
> 
> The title was taken from Ana Enriqueta Terán's _[Invocation to the Mother](http://de.scribd.com/doc/206333368/52/%C2%ABInvocation-to-the-Mother%C2%BB#page=136)_.

The grass of the courtyard lay morning-grey and doused with mist before Idril. If she crossed it, there would be an obvious trail for her father to follow once he rose and found her gone, the summer cloak and even her sword and seldom-worn boots missing. She contemplated putting them on for a moment and hitching her dress up so that it might have been anybody who had crossed from his door to Aredhel's small house next to the stables across the yard, but time was already growing shorter. Her father would rise and open the shutters at sunrise, and the eastern sky already began to glow.

It promised to be a beautiful day, and Idril, with a laugh to herself at such trepidation, ran, dress dragging through the wet grass, to her aunt's door, knocking the quick signal they had agreed on, and she peered inside through the opening crack, finding her aunt's expectant face. 

"Let us go." They laughed under their breaths, and Aredhel passed Idril's pack outside before shouldering her own and stepping from the house.

When they came to the stables, Lalwen was already there, and her horse saddled. Rochallor stomped and snorted when he took sight of all three of them, perhaps sensing that they planned an outing he would not be invited along to, but Idril grabbed a handful of oats to placate him; another for her own riding pony, Tixë, tiny and white who stretched her neck to fit it across the stable door. Idril scratched her between the eyes for good measure, as apology for her remaining behind: For years she had been too short to still carry Idril, who (so others claimed), had grown with the swiftness of a young reed, and the pony had only been stabled on one of the ships out of what her father had called undue sentimentality, and later returned to her for the same reason. 

Lalwen, adjusting Halloth's saddle straps, gave her and Aredhel an appraising look. "You are aware that you will be causing an uproar, and it is likely they will never again permit you to go with me on any journey, are you not?" 

Idril felt her chin lift, and grinned about the mock-haughty tone that snuck into her voice. "Aunt Aredhel is an adult. Father and grandfather can hardly keep her captive here. And I am an adult myself, I have been for several years!" But for all that, her voice lacked anger, and Sílanor, who was often skittish being fitted with her riding trappings, seemed as ready to be gone as she was. "And I would hate to miss their midsummer festival after they were the ones who inspired your positions to begin with!" 

"That changes very little about the fact that you are leaving without notice or permission, and I should let neither of you accompany me," Lalwen replied with a long-suffering sigh and a brief laugh. "Or that you bribed Glingellil into changing the roster." 

Aredhel mounted, trying and failing to maintain her expression of mild boredom in favour of mischievous expectation. "She is under my command, I do not know what _bribing_ you speak of. We are doing our soldiers a favour; the gate-guards must be most happy to have the morning to themselves. Now let us be gone, or we shall be hindered at flying from the cage after all." She urged Celebrin forward with a meaningful look at the newly-finished stone walls of the town, crowned by watchtowers silhouetted against the morning sky. 

They passed into the open fields of Mithrim unnoticed, and Aredhel thrilled forth a bright cry of joy. The sun rose behind them as they raced along the lake shore toward the mountains towering in the west.

* * * 

By noon it was growing unpleasantly warm, and the horses whipped their tails at the flies teeming about them for relief. The women let them walk free, and made camp in a copse of willows by a cool rivulet tricking downhill. Already they had covered a fair stretch of the way, and Lalwen, drinking some of the clear water from her cupped hand, said, "I expect we will reach Androth toward the late evening, unless this is the wrong stream and I am leading you all astray." 

"I should hope not," Idril replied. Much of the nervous excitement of the morning had abated during the ride, and Lalwen and Aredhel lay outstretched in the shade, pillowing their heads on their packs. Idril stood still and tense peering between the branches with her eyes trained on the plain and the settlement, obscured to distant shapes in the midday haze. "I do not think anybody is following us – yet."

Aredhel tugged on her dress. "Sit down, Idril. Second thoughts are a little late now; don't let them hamper your enjoyment. After all," she added after a moment's pause, "you have both the Steward and the Seneschal on your side. If you will, consider yourself part of the delegation of the House of Fingolfin. If your father wants to contend with us, he will be forced to admit that even though he outranks us in theory, he does no such thing in practice." Idril's shoulders slacked, but she remained standing, watching for any figure who might approach, and only half-turned to say. Her mouth twisted bitterly. 

"But Father – you know _why_. It is unfair that you should use it against him. He coddles and restricts me for the same reason that he is not suited for diplomacy, not with the... the hatred he nurses toward the People of Fëanor. I have never even heard him express any grief that Maglor and his wife rule them now, only satisfaction that two of them already received their due of a swift and cruel death."

Aredhel grasped Idril's hand and pulled her down into a patch of grass beside her, wrapping an arm around her niece's shoulders. Idril leaned in without protest, and did not object even when Lalwen reached out to tug a flyaway lock of golden hair behind Idril's ear and gave her a gentle smile. 

"We know well enough that Elenwë's loss still grieves both of you, but that gives him no right to stunt your freedom. We would not have taken you with us if Aredhel and I were truly opposed to it, or thought it would do either of you ill. We burned enough midnight oil to prove him that all possible conventions and philosophies of the Noldor speak in favour of allowing his daughter some freedom to breathe. He did not wish to hear much of it, and perhaps he will keep you close by him until you are married and he has no way but to yield you to your husband and a realm of your own to govern, but let us not assume the worst. There is time enough to fret when we return." 

Idril sighed. " _I miss her_. There was a scar from her nose to the corner of her lip right along her laugh line from the time Fanyë had climbed into a cherry tree and did not take well to being rescued, so she scratched at Mother's face. If the light shone on her the right way it always just looked like she was smiling more deeply. She would like this festival. She would have come with us as well, and Father would not be so harsh now." 

"I know, Itarillinkë," said Aredhel. Her high spirits ran subdued now. "Her death was a great loss, but it saved you, and it made you a healer." Idril nodded briefly. "You know Inuthind is not very forthcoming with praise - I wonder if she learned that from Idhlinn along with all the healing lore - but she did confide in me that she is very proud of your progress. She says patients calm with you in the room, and always did, and that you are able to see if aught else ails them. That is a good gift to nurture." Aredhel kissed her hair. 

"Did I ever tell you the role the Mithrim assign to light?" asked Lalwen, when Idril continued to look unconvinced, and her face grew more troubled. "Starlight in particular because they lived beneath it for so long."

"The sun is a star as well," Idril cut in, softly. "Only that it is the closest one to us, and that makes it much brighter. Grandfather explained that to me one morning. Her light is that of Laurelin preserved somehow, and no one but the Lady Elbereth would have been able to kindle it on the sky – it must be a star." 

"Yes, and the moon, though coming from Telperion through Elbereth's hands, is too close, too small and too cold to be a star, I know. Nolvo was very keen on presenting me with his newfound knowledge as well," Lalwen said fondly. "But the point is that the Mithrim - all the Elves of Beleriand, in fact - believe something else, and that is more difficult to disprove. They say that starlight preserves the memory of those they lost, and the oldest beliefs among them even claim that their _faer_ have chosen to live there. And since the first sunrise it made winter their time of remembrance that they will invite few outsiders to, and summer their time to let go of grief, settle feuds, and celebrate life as it runs, much like water." Lalwen rolled her shoulders, watching Idril's face closely. 

"Perhaps," Idril said, "I will feel better when we continue on our way, but I will be certain to not show my grief too openly. And I will tell Father of this when we return. Perhaps it is a lesson he will take to heart. He could use it." She disentangled herself from Aredhel, and like her and Lalwen stretched out to rest before they would ride on come the cooler hours of the afternoon. She lay facing the stream.

* * * 

They heard the music before they caught sight of any living thing. Highter in the mountains now, and with the plain by the lake stretching like a carpet under the dark, clear sky, Lalwen, Idril and Aredhel were riding northward along a cragged rock wall. The high sound of flutes seemed to issue from the very rock itself, sometimes punctuated by the boom of a large drum or the chiming of many small bells. 

"Ah, the musicians are preparing," said Lalwen, smiling. "That means the celebrations have not yet begun – if they had, there would be no music, not from the middle of the night until dawn again, and we are well on time." She pointed ahead, where the narrow path vanished through an arch in the rock and around a sharp bend. "The entrance to the caves is just out of sight behind this." 

"Why the silence?" asked Idril, leaning forward. "I thought remembrance was for the winter?" 

"It is," Lalwen replied. " _Ennyn Laer_ is not for remembrance. It is solemn, yes, because the Mithrim are much more dependent on the land and its kindnesses than we were in Aman, but it is expectant of joys to come as well. And at dawn there shall be music to celebrate the new coming of the light, and their beginning of summer." 

While they spoke, Lalwen was the first to pass through the arch, with Idril and Aredhel coming close behind. Beyond it the path expanded into a wide green plateau before a cave mouth facing eastward, and for a moment the grass seemed to be studded with stars in the even-dim – small fires, sometimes merely candles or lamps, and people walking among them, crouching around them, standing in small groups talking and laughing. The wind carried conversations in Mithrimmin to their ears, and Idril silently thanked her aunts for the rigorous routine in the language that she had gone through since they had first made contact with the Grey-Elves.

Idril was the first to dismount; guiding Sílanor, Halloth and Celebrin to a horse pen that had been erected against the rock wall, and turning back around found that a delegation of the Mithrim had already approached Lalwen and Aredhel in what seemed like a cordial welcome, led by a young man with eyes like black marbles. Both he and the woman at his side, perhaps not much older than Idril herself, had shorn their dark hair so short that it lay like a smooth helmet around their heads; but they carried themselves gracefully and with composure. Lalwen waved her over. 

"Annael and his wife Rhovanglin, of the Swan's House of Mithrim, my grand-niece Idril Celebrindal of the House of Fingolfin." Idril curtsied and smiled, and spoke the greetings Lalwen had taught her long ago. " _Danta i-dum, ach tintar i-tin_. I am glad to meet our brothers and sisters among your folk, and to be allowed to attend this festival. I have heard much about it." 

"It is our pleasure, Idril," said Rhovanglin. "There is much we can learn from one another, and there are many things we need to discuss about your folk and ours, now that our parents have fallen and we took their place, but tonight is not the occasion for it. The silence will begin soon, and we would be glad to have you sit by our fire." 

Idril started, and could feel Aredhel's hand, resting lightly on her back, clench. She breathed out deeply and nodded, walking ahead with Rhovanglin and Annael even as she fought down the lump in her throat. Aredhel and Lalwen followed. Had anybody asked her to speak, she would not have trusted her voice to remain steady, but they had no sooner made it into the circle of light cast by the campfire that single flute signal sounded and a hush fell over the assembled people. They turned their faces eastward, and then quieted entirely. In the hush, the sounds of the night insects grew louder, and the gurgle of a brook somewhere out of sight. Lalwen, Aredhel and Idril sat side by side for the duration of the night, while the fire warming their backs burned to embers, and the sky faded from midnight into the reds and purples of morning. It grew chill and morning mist began to rise; the damp made Idril shiver. 

One by one, the stars winked out, and Aredhel gave her a brief, concerned look. Almost, Idril could hear the words resting on her aunt's tongue. _Release your grief. Watch it fade. Speak to your father about this once we return, and he will not begrudge you your experience. Perhaps we shall convince him to come with us next year._

Idril nodded, and closed her eyes to comforting darkness. Only when the light behind her eyelids grew brighter, she opened them again, blinking at the transformation around her; in the rising light the splendid colours of the people's garments around her shone like flowers, and shadows fell dark behind the sitting figures. She trained her sight on the horizon, and when the first rays of sun fanned between the crags of the Eredh Wethrin to set the misty country aglow and touch Idril's face with warm fingers, a music of flutes and bells echoed from the cave's mouth as the musicians came forth. All around, the people began to rise, and Idril, too, stood up to lift her face into the light of the morning.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Ennyn Laer_ : Sindarin for the Gates of Summer, called _Tarnin Austa_ in the Lost Tales' early Qenya (no longer linguistically sound). As if probably apparent, the rite is much the same as described in Gondolin, but it never made sense for me to make it a Noldorin holiday - after all, Aman had no shortage of light, so that a celebration that is Sindarin in origin seems much more probable to me. 
> 
> _Danta i-dum, ach tintar i-tin_ : The dark is falling, but the stars are shining.


End file.
